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It was hard to be mad when she was wrapped up in six foot two inches of solid, sexy muscle.
“No, but nevertheless I’m pretty sure I was distracted and not in a position to be making a sound decision.”
“So, the court of Fletcher throws it out?”
“Exactly.”
She laughed.
It was the type of banter they usually had sitting around a desk, not standing in his arms while he looked ready to ravish her again.
God help her, she could fall for this man if she wasn’t careful. She slipped out of his arms and glanced around, then down at herself, wishing she’d worn something a little less sloppy.
“I wasn’t expecting company. Do you want a glass of wine?”
“Sure,” he replied.
She poured him a glass, looking up briefly as Fletcher stood in the middle of her home.
He looked as confident as ever, but completely out of place. She didn’t know what it was, but it probably had something to do with the fact his jeans cost more than her sofa, and his huge watch more than her entire apartment.
Fletcher was a billionaire.
She may work with him every day, but seeing him inside her home, outside the lust-filled haze they’d shared last night, she was reminded how very different they were.
“It’s just from Wholefoods. Nothing fancy.” She handed him the glass.
“It’s fine, it’s...” He winced as he took a sip, smiled, and put it down on the coffee table as they both sat on the sofa. “Okay, it’s pretty bad.”
His expensive tastes wouldn’t be satisfied here. Except, apparently, what they did in the bedroom. She shook her head, but was soon distracted as he reached out and tugged her against him.
“Fletch,” she warned softly.
His free hand landed on her thigh, and she realized hers had done the same. Like two pieces of a puzzle slipping into place.
She gazed into his gorgeous green eyes in an attempt to look growly.
“Olivia,” he smirked.
“It was just one night,” she repeated.
Forget the other barriers to their forbidden relationship, Olivia was worried her heart was going to get broken by this heart throb of a man.
“Let’s make it two.”
God damn him.
He reached to brush her hair away and like a magnet she leaned into him, their lips meeting for a lazy long core-melting kiss.
“You taste like raspberries,” he moaned.
“It’s my lip gloss.” She pointed to one of the three raspberry lip balms she owned. One lived on her desk, which she took into meetings with her, one in her handbag and one at home.
He groaned. “I know. I’ve been fantasizing about that damn stuff for months.”
“Really?” she asked, smiling. He nodded slowly about ten times, and her smile stretched into a grin. “Like, when we’ve been at work in meetings?”
Suddenly, the idea of him imagining her mouth set her body alight. It was both an incredibly naughty and delicious thought she knew was going to haunt her.
